


Blue

by alissabobissa



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: New Caprica is for torture, this is messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alissabobissa/pseuds/alissabobissa
Summary: It should have been harder to kill him.





	1. Blue Shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunar47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunar47/gifts).

> Originally written as a pair of drabbles in 2008 for lunar47.

It wasn’t messy the first time she killed him.

The light coming through the windows had just begun to dim, the remaining rays creeping in matching the delicate blue hue of his shirt. It should have been harder. She thought he would wake up before she could get the pillow over his face.

What she remembered most was the serene, peaceful look he had in sleep that she just couldn’t reconcile with their situation. She remembered that she kept his face covered long after his body went limp. She remembered how he looked anything but peaceful when she finally lifted the pillow.

And as she sat on the floor and cried cold, angry tears, she thought about how there was no blood and how her hands weren’t even dirty. He’d be back. They’d start again. She knew that, and she waited there on the floor.

When he came through the door some time later that day, he was smiling and wearing the same blue shirt.


	2. Blue Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should have been harder to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written as a pair of drabbles in 2008 for lunar47.

By the time he had died for a second time at her hands, there was blood all over the stairs, in her hair, on her clothes and hands, and under her fingernails. He lay lifeless at the top of the stairs, and she sat on the bottom step compulsively moving her tongue over her stinging split lip and tracing circles in the small pool of blood on the floor.

She had slit his throat as he was walking up the stairs, and though he fought back, as fierce as anything, when he got to the top all he had to show for his life was the new color he had painted the stairs.

She had moved his body so she could step around it if she had to. Soldiers were taught not to block the fire exits. Not that she actually had an exit. And instead of sitting and waiting for his return, she got up, found a ball cap to put her hair up in, and rifled through the cabinets under the sink in the kitchen.

When he walked past his own body a few hours later, the stairs were clean and her bloody clothes sat in a heap outside the bathroom where he listened to the water running and smiled to himself.


End file.
